A Thin Line
by bemj11
Summary: Before Sherlock Holmes and Watson, before Jones or Hopkins or Bradstreet, Inspectors Gregson and Lestrade worked at the Yard during a time when an honest police man found himself fighting crime not just in the city, but also within the Yard itself.
1. The most convincing lies

Author's Note: This is an earlier story, set before most of my other stories ever took place. This is a different Scotland Yard, and a good portion of the characters are different characters than are usually featured (for a better idea of when this took place refer to the time-line in my profile). Please note that Gregson and Lestrade are both younger here, and that Inspectors Smith and Adams are _not_ the Constables of the same name you see in later stories.

That being said, thanks for your patience, and enjoy.

* * *

><p>"Craddock is going to try to persuade you that you've got no future at the Yard if you decide to side with me." Lestrade announced as Gregson entered his office, though the Inspector did not look up to verify that he was, in fact, speaking to Gregson.<p>

Gregson wondered if there were any point in asking how Lestrade knew it was him without looking up. Probably not, he decided. "Are you sewing yourself up?" He asked instead, closing the office door and locking it behind him.

"Lacey cut my arm open on my way in." Lestrade confirmed. "I think he was aiming for my face."

Gregson wondered how often the man nearly got killed on his way to work, to speak of it so casually. Then again, Gregson himself had foiled an attempt on the man's life on his first day at the Yard. Attempts on the man's life were apparently not a rarity, not surprising given the lack of moral fiber among most of the men at the Yard and Lestrade's lack of tolerance for criminal activity.

"Do you want me to let him persuade me?" He asked, going back to Lestrade's greeting.

Lestrade frowned at his arm. "It's risky." He said, still debating the issue. He had not made up his mind yet. Gregson already did not like the idea, but there was very little he _did_ like about the situations he tended to get into when Lestrade was involved and it was, after all, part of the job.

"Craddock'll probably have his boys rough you up a bit, first." He warned.

"That goes without saying." Gregson agreed. "Do you want me to do it?" He asked again. A chance at Craddock was a godsend. They had been after the man for a while now, but had been unable to actually get anything on him.

Lestrade sighed. "You can't actually do anything." He reminded the other Inspector. "We have to stay clean if we're going to pull this off. They get anything on us, we're history."

"I know," Gregson replied with just a bit of irritation. Lestrade reminded him of this fact almost everyday, as if he thought Gregson might do something stupid if he did not. "So I act cowed and intimidated, get in on their plans, report them, and we've got Craddock and his buddies."

"There'll be no doubt what side you're on if we pull this off. It's dangerous." Lestrade added irritably.

"You think so?" Gregson retorted. "You should have a doctor look at that." He added, nodding toward Lestrade's arm. It was a waste of breath; Lestrade seemed to have some sort of issue with members of the medical profession. Gregson had not seen the man actually go to one yet. He would have better luck with the other conversation they were having. "Do you want me to do it?"

"Craddock's people are going to rough you up anyway, so you might as well." Lestrade finally said. "Don't get killed."

"I'll try not to." Gregson retorted as he unlocked the door. He left Lestrade to finish sewing up his arm and headed across the hall to his own office.

He left his own door open-he could keep an eye on things that way-and settled down at his desk to try to get some work done.  
>He barely nodded to Inspector Adams as he went by, and Inspector Johnson as <em>he<em> went by. He ignored West as he came in, or pretended to-something about the man sent shivers down Gregson's spine whenever he was near.

Craddock's boys, as Lestrade called them-Gregson wondered idly if Lestrade had started that or if West had-actually caught him as he headed home for the day.

Gregson was not stupid. He never would have been going down that alley alone if he had not been counting on Lestrade's tip that this nasty bunch wanted to turn him. For a brief second he wondered what he would do if Lestrade was wrong-if they simply wanted him out of the way, but pushed that fear aside. He trusted very few people down at the Yard, but Lestrade was one of them, even if it were more out of necessity than anything else.

Gregson was not entirely successful in holding back a groan as he let Paul pull grasp his wrist and pull him up off the ground. "Lestrade. Trouble. Got it." He grunted, trying to decide just how stiff he was going to be in the morning. He considered shooting Inspector Craddock a glare, but resisted the urge. It would probably not do any good. "I never liked him anyway." He added, for good measure.

"You saved his life." Lowell, another of Craddock's toadies, reminded everyone present. Gregson _did_ glare at him.

He spat on the ground before replying. "Before I knew he was an insufferable fool, yes. Before I became aware of the situation at the Yard." He added, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it to the cut above his left eye from Paul's ring. "I don't like Lestrade any more than you do." He told Craddock.

Craddock believed him. Gregson had always heard that the most convincing lies held an ounce of truth, and it was certainly true that he did not care for Inspector Lestrade.

Craddock smiled and gave Gregson a time and a place. "Can you slip away from Lestrade, do you think?" Gregson tried to look nervous, then decided, and hoped he had pulled it off. He was certainly not an actor, but then again, West hadn't figured out that Gregson could not stand him yet. Neither had anyone else, for that matter.

"I think so." He answered Craddock's question.

"We can arrange something." Craddock offered nastily. "Keep Lestrade busy."

Gregson made a mental note to warn Lestrade, just in case. "I can get away." He said.

"Then be there." Craddock said, his expression suddenly dark and threatening. "And don't even think about trying to back out."

Gregson did not bother resisting the urge to gulp. It worked in his favor if they thought he was frightened. Whether or not he actually was was of little consequence.

He walked with Lowell to the corner, where he was delighted when they went their separate ways. He was grateful when he finally reached his home and could assess the worst of the damage incurred by the beating he had taken from Craddock's men.

It was not bad; a number of bruises, the cut on his forehead, a black eye and a split lip. It could have been much, much worse. If Craddock found out what he was up to it would be. There were a number of bruises along his back and sides, and a couple on his abdomen. He would be stiff tomorrow, and sore, but he could deal with that.

The one thing nice about those blasted weekly meetings at Lestrade's, Gregson thought as he remembered he had not gone grocery shopping recently, was that the man could cook, and cook well. Friday was, however, still two days away.

He had not forgotten to get groceries. He had had every intention of getting them two days ago when Inspector Smith had dragged him down to the docks just as his shift was supposed to have been ending because Lestrade was busy trying to track down the leak with West.

Someone in their small group was leaking information to the people they were trying to clear out, and after Adams had nearly been shot last week they were desperately trying to find out who.

The end result had been that Gregson had predictably ended up in the river and by the time he had actually made it home had cared about little more than getting dry clothes, a cup of hot tea, and crawling into bed. He had been fully aware, as he huddled under the blanket, that he would regret not getting to the grocer's, but had not been able to bring himself to care.

Nor had he really cared much about it yesterday after having been dragged out of bed (metaphorically rather than literally, thank goodness) by Lestrade at a quarter to three and the two of them had spent most of the day running all over London.

There was really nothing in the cupboard that he could make into a meal. Gregson was merely a passable cook under the best of circumstances, and this was certainly not one of those.

He considered the time, allowed himself a long sigh, and headed back out to do what he should have done two days ago.


	2. You have to learn sometime

Lestrade scowled as Gregson filled him in on his 'meeting' with Craddock the following morning, and before he was finished he was wondering what he had done wrong. "It's a test; they want to see if you'll show." Lestrade said as he finished.

"Which I will." Gregson added uncertainly.

"You'll have to go in there alone." Lestrade grumbled. _That_ was why he was scowling. "They'll be watching for trouble. I wouldn't be surprised if they expect you to do something to prove you're with them while you're there, either."

"Right," Gregson said, and again he found himself regretting agreeing to go along with this ridiculous plan. "So how do I get out of it, if that happens?"

"You're a coward." Lestrade said. Gregson was about to object when the other Inspector continued. "You're a greedy, gutless coward who wants money and power, but doesn't have the guts to do what's necessary." Lestrade's dark eyes were glittering ominously as he spoke. His jaw was set, his brows furrowed. It was somewhat alarming.

"Why bother with me, then?" Gregson found himself asking even as he decided he must have been mad for joining the Yard.

Lestrade answered almost immediately, and Gregson belatedly realized the other Inspector had given the matter a lot of thought after their conversation yesterday. "You have access to information that no one else has." Yes, Lestrade was suggesting that Gregson offer to leak information to Craddock.

"You said you suspected they already have someone in our group." Gregson reminded him, even as he considered that Lestrade never simply 'suspected' anything. Lestrade knew someone was leaking information, he just did not yet know who it was.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow, and Gregson resisted the urge to sigh. "You want me to leak him information concerning your doings."

"Nobody else is as well informed." Lestrade pointed out.

"One of us is going to get killed if we aren't very, very careful." Gregson grumbled.

Lestrade ignored the complaint. "Gain his trust." He said. "Keep your ears open. We'll get him." He considered for a moment. "Tell him I know about the robbery tomorrow night."

"Paul and Reuben will escape." Gregson reminded Lestrade. "Craddock will see to that."

Lestrade growled. "If we get Craddock, we get Paul and Reuben. And Lowell. And Ugly Garrett."

"They'll try to kill you." Gregson felt obligated to point out. "You'll need people with you who can handle themselves."

"They won't kill you." Lestrade decided. "West can handle himself."

"You and West?" Gregson managed not to shudder. He really did not like that man. "You two _would_ try to stop a robbery by yourselves."

"No names." Lestrade said sharply. "It's one thing if they're ready for me. I don't want them ready for West too."

That would certainly give them an advantage. "Anything else?" Gregson asked.

"Be careful."

Gregson nodded. "You too." He replied.

A sharp knock sounded on the office door. Gregson looked to Lestrade, who nodded. "That's West." Lestrade said as Gregson unlocked the door, wondering yet again how Lestrade knew without looking who was entering his office.

Inspector West entered Lestrade's office. "We've got trouble." West did not waste any time in getting to the point. West and Lestrade were a lot alike in that respect. Neither seemed to care much for small talk. "Adams and Smith went down to check out that tavern; they're in way over their heads."

"Fight broke out?" Lestrade guessed, standing up. "Come on, Gregson." He called as he followed West back out the door.

"Sure you want to bring your boy?" West called as Gregson fell into step behind Lestrade, and Gregson thought he detected an accusing note in the question, but could not think of any reason for it. It distracted him, for once, from being irritated that West still insisted on calling him Lestrade's_ boy_, though he had been at the Yard for almost a year now and was rapidly proving himself to be just as capable, if not more so, than the smaller Inspector.

Lestrade shrugged, and seemed to miss the accusation directed at him. "He has to learn sometime." He said.

* * *

><p>"Stay close. Watch your back." Lestrade snapped at Gregson as he stepped forward into the chaos that engulfed the tavern. Gregson followed him into the fray with only slight reluctance; the thought of being separated from the other Inspector in such a brawl was for once more alarming than the thought of following him into it.<p>

He was soon too busy trying not to get his head knocked in to do more than spare the occasional glance around to locate Lestrade. Someone rather large knocked him backwards, and he went sprawling.

His assailant apparently decided to single him out and grabbed Gregson by the shirt and dragged him up from the floor only to slam him against the bar, hard. Gregson had enough presence of mind to kick the man in the knee, and the man bellowed and all but threw him backwards over the bar.

Someone else was on him before he could scramble to his feet and dragged Gregson up again, shoving him against the shelves of liquor behind him. Glass bottles rattled dangerously; a few fell. Gregson blinked, trying to get the room to stop spinning enough for him to get his bearings.

He was unceremoniously dropped and hauled yet again to his feet almost immediately. "I told you to stay close." Lestrade's face appeared in front of Gregson, and for a moment he thought the other Inspector looked worried.

Lestrade whipped around and threw himself at someone furiously, and Gregson found himself darting after him.

It was a good thing, too. Lestrade did not see the man coming at him from behind with a broken bottle. Gregson let the man have it.

The next minute Lestrade was shoving someone at Gregson and barking at him to "Get him out of here!" Quick reflexes enabled him to catch the older Inspector in spite of his surprise. He wondered if Lestrade had really just put him in charge of Inspector Smith.

Quick, ragged breaths and an unsteady step confirmed that Lestrade had done just that and why. Inspector Smith was injured. Gregson reached out a hand to steady the man and felt something wet against his palm.

Smith swore at him as Gregson realized they were too far from the door to have much of a chance of making it outside and settled for half dragging the older Inspector towards a somewhat defensible corner of the room.

"Sorry," Gregson apologized halfheartedly; it was better to cause the man a little pain by moving him than to leave him helpless in the middle of the room. "Someone stab you?" He asked as he settled Smith out of harm's way and looked to see what he could do about the man's injury.

"No," Smith grumbled at the younger Inspector, "now why would you think something like that?"

Gregson did not allow himself to respond. He instead devoted his attention to trying to slow the bleeding. Seeing nothing else that would work better, Gregson slid out of his jacket and was rewarded with another barrage of verbal assault as he pressed it against the other man's side.

He cast a look about to make sure they were still safe or, at least, safe enough, as he continued to hold his jacket against the older Inspector's side. He caught sight of Lestrade physically throwing someone out through the front door of the tavern and winced as the man turned too slowly to avoid the chair a second man broke across his back and shoulders.

Lestrade staggered and probably would have gone down had Inspector Adams not appeared and dragged him upright and turned on Lestrade's assailant and stunned him with a vicious right hook.

It took far too long for the tavern to begin to clear and for Gregson to realize that somehow those responsible for beginning this entire mess were still here and holed up behind an overturned table.

"You're under arrest." Inspector Adams threw at the three men. One of them responded with gunfire, but West seemed to have been expecting it and dragged his fellow Inspector to the ground and out of the line of fire. At the same time Lestrade drew his own revolver and responded to the attack in kind.

Lestrade's aim was good. His target went down, eliciting a shriek of rage from one of the others. This one was foolish enough to charge Lestrade, but one of West's knives sprouted in his throat before Lestrade managed to fire off a second shot.

The third man stayed behind the table. "Don't shoot!" He cried, his voice filled with panic. "I give up! Don't shoot! Please."

"Come out!" West called.

"Don't shoot!" The boy-why did Gregson think he sounded like a mere boy?-cried again.

"I'm not going to shoot you." Lestrade replied wearily, lowering his weapon. "Come on out."

The boy-he was only a boy-came out, looking absolutely terrified. His eyes flickered from one of his fallen companions to the other before coming to rest on Lestrade.

He had apparently picked up his companion's gun and suddenly had it trained on Lestrade with shaking hands. Gregson's breath hitched; he braced himself to act, but there was really nothing he could do but watch.

Lestrade did not move. "I told you I wasn't going to shoot you." He said softly. "Even if you shoot me, there are still four more people here you have to get past. Why don't you put the gun down?"

The boy licked his lips nervously but did not lower the weapon. "How old are you?" Lestrade asked, when he realized the boy was not going to give up just yet. "You can't be much older than fifteen." He guessed.

"I'm fourteen." The boy replied nervously.

"Ah." Lestrade said, as calmly as if this were simply a social visit. Except, of course, that Lestrade did not do social visits. The man was about as sociable as an oyster. "You look older, son."

Lestrade had said the wrong thing. "I'm not your son." The boy shot back angrily. His hand twitched.

"Sorry." Lestrade said, just a little too quickly. "It was just an expression. I don't know your name."

"I don't know yours either." The boy countered, and out of the corner of his eye Gregson saw West force back a groan. The man always did seem to prefer action to words.

Lestrade considered this. "Giles." Gregson was not sure why he chose to offer his first name, but it seemed to make the boy just a little more cooperative.

"John." The boy said slowly. "After my father."

Lestrade almost smiled. "Good name." He offered. "How did you get involved in this mess, John? You don't look like the type of person who enjoys killing people."

The boy shuddered, and Gregson worried that the boy's nerves might accidently set the gun off anyway. He wondered if the same had occurred to Lestrade.

"I was the lookout." The boy said. "I'm small, and fast. I never hurt anybody."

Lestrade nodded. "I figured as much." He said carefully. "I'm sure you don't want to hurt anyone now either."

The boy bit his lip, and his trembling increased. "You'll shoot me." He said desperately.

Lestrade shook his head. "I've never shot an unarmed man, and I'm not about to start now." He said softly. "You have my word on that."

His eyes were locked on the boy's as he spoke and suddenly the Inspector did the unthinkable; he tossed his weapon aside. "Your turn now, John." He said. "Put down the gun."

The boy shivered, but braced himself and nodded. He dropped the gun as if it were burning hot.

Lestrade smiled. "Good-"

He never finished. A blade suddenly erupted from the boy's throat and he fell, his eyes empty and his face registering just the slightest hint of surprise.

Lestrade was by the boy in an instant, though Gregson had no idea what the man thought he might do. A second later the Inspector was in the face of the man responsible for the boy's death.

"What the devil did you think you were doing?" He shouted up at Inspector West. Gregson had never seen Lestrade like this. He was positively livid.

"He was involved." West replied coolly. There was no guilt or anguish for the life he had just ended. It was not right for someone who was supposed to be protecting the people, and it made Gregson wary.

"He gave up!" Lestrade snarled.

"He held a gun at you." West sounded wholly unconcerned. "That made him a threat."

"He was a child, and he was frightened." Lestrade spat bitterly.

"You would have been no less dead." West began, but Lestrade lost it and shoved the older Inspector backwards into the wall and held him there.

"I took care of the situation. The threat had been taken care of. You had no right-" He broke off as West jerked free of his grip and decked him before shoving him to the floor. He was on top of Lestrade in a second, his face inches from the younger Inspector's.

"You will not dictate to me what I should and should not do." West hissed. "You would do well to remember that I do not answer to you. Other matters bring me here than simply helping you straighten out your precious Scotland Yard, Lestrade."

Lestrade glared up at him, his anger no less abated. But once the smaller Inspector was actually pinned, there was little he could do about it. Satisfied, West let him up.

Lestrade was still glaring as he climbed to his feet, and Gregson somehow had the feeling this was hardly over.

He was right. Lestrade considered the man who once again stood before him for all of two seconds before throwing a punch that actually caused the man to stagger back, though there was mercifully no bloodshed.

"You can follow your own agenda when I'm not around." The words were like ice, and for a moment the two stood with their eyes locked, both tensed as if for combat.

It was if suddenly they came to some unspoken agreement; the next second Lestrade was coming over to check on Smith while Adams and West began dealing with the aftermath of the brawl.

"He needs to see a doctor." Gregson informed Lestrade as the man knelt beside them. Dark eyes quickly took in the injury and the amount of blood that was still escaping in spite of Gregson's best efforts.

Lestrade nodded and rose a bit stiffly to his feet. "I'll be back." He said, more to Smith than to Gregson. "Keep an eye on the boy."

Gregson rolled his eyes; Lestrade was not that much older than he was, and Gregson was capable of taking care of himself. He realized, however, as Lestrade left and Smith looked just a little more alert, that the order had been given for Smith's sake rather than Gregson's. Lestrade was trying to keep Smith awake.

It seemed like an eternity passed before Lestrade returned, doctor in tow. Less time seemed to pass before the doctor was finished, but Gregson was hardly surprised. Most doctors wanted to be free of the Scotland Yarders as quickly as possible, and knowing what he knew about most of the people that worked there, Gregson could hardly blame them.

His first instinct was to get away from most of them as quickly as possible as well.


	3. A wolf among bigger wolves

Gregson did not return to Scotland Yard with Lestrade. Instead he braced himself and headed across the city for his meeting with Craddock.

The place was one of those places you never went in alone. The hairs on the back of Gregson's neck stood on end and his stomach churned-the last time he had gone into a place like this alone he had nearly gotten himself shot-and that without anyone ever even realizing he was with the police.

He fervently hoped Lestrade did not end up having to come looking for him as he scanned the area for Craddock-he spotted him across the room, seated at a table with more than a few of his 'buddies.'

Paul and Reuben favored him with predatory smiles as he reached the table and was offered a seat. Lowell and Ugly Garrett were there as well, and Gregson absently wondered how the latter had obtained the nickname. Even Lestrade tended to refer to the man as such, and Lestrade had in general little tolerance for nicknames.

Gregson had to bite back his surprise at seeing Scrubb there, though. He was apparently their leak, but somehow Gregson doubted Lestrade would be happy to learn as much.

He offered Craddock a nervous smile as the man waved him to a chair. "I made it." He said, trying for false cheer.

"You're late." Lowell countered, and Gregson's grin disappeared like lightning.

"I got caught up in a bar fight." He admitted. "But I'm here now."

Craddock smirked as Scrubb grumbled, "Don't know what we need him for anyway."

Gregson realized Craddock was waiting, so he turned to Scrubb. "Lestrade's on to you." He warned. "He knows you're the leak."

It was a lie, but Scrubb believed it. His face flushed scarlet and he swore at Gregson. Apparently he did not feel confident trying to bully anyone other than the new one of the bunch.

Craddock tolerantly raised a hand to silence Scrubb. "We'll find other work for you." He told the angry Constable before turning his attention back to Gregson. "Do you have any idea why we picked you out, Inspector?"

Gregson swallowed nervously. He knew. "I'm close to Lestrade." He said. "You want to use that." Craddock nodded in approval, and Gregson braced himself. "I won't touch him." He said quickly. Paul and Ugly Garrett both tensed at this, but Gregson hurried on. "I've seen what happens to people who try to start something with him; they always come off the worse."

"Then what use do you think you'll be to me?" Craddock asked, a note of warning in his voice.

Gregson took a deep breath and hoped that this worked. "I _am_ close to Lestrade." He assured him quickly. "I know a lot more than most people." Craddock was waiting, so he continued. "He knows about the robbery tomorrow night." He said with a glance in Paul and Reuben's direction.

"Oh?" Craddock said encouragingly. "Go on."

"He plans to be there. I'm supposed to be with him. I don't know who else he plans to take along." Gregson lied. "You don't want to lose two of your men, do you? And anyway, if someone decided to take a shot at him, I wouldn't be in any hurry to interfere."

Craddock studied Gregson for what seemed like an eternity, and all the time he kept waiting for Craddock to see right through him and have Ugly Garrett shoot him or worse, for Lowell to put an end to him.

But Craddock smiled an evil looking smile. "So you won't get your hands dirty, but you'll pass on information that could possibly get him killed?" He asked.

Gregson shrugged. "I don't like Lestrade." He said. "He's a hard man, and there's no pleasing him. It's all black and white with him to. No grey areas." He hesitated, afraid of overselling. "I never really believed that life could be so simply divided."

Craddock grinned, and then leaned forward. "We'll see if your information is good. If it isn't, you're dead."

"It's good." Gregson assured him.

* * *

><p>"Well?" Lestrade asked as Gregson closed the door behind him and locked it.<p>

"He said if my information isn't good, I'm dead." Gregson replied. "What, exactly, qualifies as 'good'?"

"If you're telling the truth, the information is good." Lestrade replied, looking up from his desk. "Look nervous and worried when we go in. Shoot West a couple troubled looks, but not too many. We don't want him to get suspicious."

Gregson barely resisted the urge to cringe. "Not that I like West, but is it a good idea to keep him out of the loop?" He could not stop himself from shivering. "I don't want to end up with one of his knives sticking out of my back."

"West doesn't need to know." Lestrade said darkly. He was still upset over yesterday, Gregson guessed. He decided to let the matter go for the time being.

"How's Smith?" He asked instead. Lestrade scowled in response.

"He'll be down for at least a week." The other man grumbled. "We can't afford to lose anyone." He worried.

"Speaking of which," Gregson said reluctantly, "I've got some bad news. I know who our leak is."

Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "You'll give yourself away if you aren't careful." He said, his voice flat.

"I told him you were already on to him." Gregson retorted. "He believed me, and Craddock said he would find other work for him to do."

Lestrade sighed in resignation. "Who was it?" He asked.

"Scrubb." Gregson told him, and Lestrade's eyebrow shot up. Gregson had surprised him.

"Scrubb?" He repeated. Gregson nodded, and Lestrade shook his head. "If he thinks I already know, I'll have to deal with it today." He decided. "And soon."

Gregson turned to leave, but hesitated before unlocking the door. "Sometimes I wonder if we're doing any good." He admitted, hating himself for showing weakness in front of Lestrade, of all people.

But who else was there to go to? Lestrade was the only person he could honestly say he trusted, even out of the small bunch of people he was currently working with to try to clean up Scotland Yard. He had stopped discussing his work with his friends after his first day at the Yard, unwilling to risk putting them in danger. Not that he had seen much of them of recently anyway…

Lestrade did not answer the not-quite-spoken question, but then, Gregson had not expected him to do so. He unlocked the door and left the other man alone in his office.

* * *

><p>Gregson willed himself not to react to the body that had been pulled out of the river.<p>

She was young; Gregson put her at around seventeen or eighteen, little more than a child. She had long blonde hair-she had been a beauty before time and the river had gotten to her. Now she was nothing more than a bloated, discolored corpse.

One of the Constables turned a little green as Gregson knelt beside the corpse. He ignored the smell and began examining the body for signs of violence.

He wished half-heartedly that Scotland Yard's only Police Surgeon that was actually interested in helping solve cases had not had his throat slit on his way home a week ago.

Gregson was no physician, but hard earned experience and hours spent listening to Police Surgeon Mullins as a freshly appointed Constable prevented him from being as far out of his depth as he might have been.

He had surprised Lestrade his first day with his observations on the dead body the man had been sent to deal with, though Lestrade had done little more than grunt his agreement with Gregson's conclusions.

Both the dead girl's wrists were bruised. There was bruising on the left side of her face where someone had stricken her as well. Her clothes were ripped. Gregson had a pretty strong suspicion as to what had happened. He thought about letting himself get angry, but knew better.

He stood and nodded for the Constables to take care of her, then went to question the men who had found her, the captain of a small ship and his son. They, predictably, had nothing useful to contribute beyond the actual finding of the corpse. Neither claimed to have ever seen her before having fished her out of the river, and neither could tell Gregson whether it was possible the girl had come from nearby. He thanked them anyway and let them go.

It was a depressing business, and Gregson wondered if he would ever find out who the girl was or who had done this to her. He was a cop; it was unlikely people would talk to him even if he were only trying to track down the girl's family or killer.

He was finished here, that much was certain. He headed back to Scotland Yard to go through the joke that was their missing persons' file, though he highly doubted it would do a bit of good. People disappeared in London every day.

* * *

><p>Lestrade was, predictably, the last person to reach his own home for their weekly meeting. Gregson had at first been unsettled by the realization that Lestrade did not lock his doors when he left for the day, but that had been before he had met Kristina.<p>

Lestrade's older sister had greeted him on the evening of his first meeting with two very large, very sharp knives. The woman had come up behind him with no warning whatsoever and placed the blade of one against his throat and the point of the other just below his belt.

He had never been so still in his life as he told her who he was, that he worked with Lestrade at the Yard, that he had been invited over and told not to knock, but to go on in.

He had allowed himself a sigh of relief as the knives were removed from their threatening positions. The sister had laughed, apologized, and introduced herself. She had also explained that she had not known to expect Gregson and that one could never be too careful.

She had led him to the sitting room as if the incident had never happened and told him to make himself comfortable, but to mind her brother's desk. Gregson had taken in the sparse furnishings, a desk and chair, a bench along one wall, and a rocking chair in front of the fireplace, and opted for a seat on the bench.

Gregson opted to remain standing tonight; the rocking chair had been defaulted to Smith, who should not have been up yet, which would have put Gregson either beside West on the bench or at Lestrade's desk. Gregson would rather have taken a seat beside West than a seat at Lestrade's desk.

"Scrubb isn't coming." Lestrade announced as he entered the sitting room, his sister a few steps behind him and muttering under her breath as she tried to get him to let her look him over for injury. It was a common enough scene, and would have been amusing if it were not for the number of times the woman had actually found injuries that her brother had overlooked in the past year alone.

"He was the leak?" West asked, and Lestrade nodded as he submitted to his sister's fussing.

"He's also dead." Lestrade grumbled. "He jumped at me in the most poorly executed murder attempt I've ever seen and when I didn't drop dead he turned and ran. He made it out into the street-should have paid more attention to where he was running. It took me three hours to calm the unfortunate cab driver down, to say nothing of his customers." He turned and raised an eyebrow at his sister, who returned the gesture but excused herself nonetheless.

"Paul and Reuben are planning a jewel robbery tonight." Lestrade said when she was gone. He looked over at West. "Interested?"

West nodded. "I suppose you'll insist on taking your boy with you." He said, shooting a glance at Gregson, who wondered if he had inadvertently done something to earn the man's animosity. He fervently hoped West did not realize he was allegedly running with Craddock-he might as well go pick out a nice coffin tomorrow if that were the case.

"He handled himself well yesterday." Adams spoke up on Gregson's behalf. "Anyway, Smith can't go, someone has to make sure he gets home, and Johnson's wife-" Adams's jaw clicked shut at the look Johnson gave him, but his eyes twinkled in amusement.

"You three be careful." Smith warned Lestrade. "Reuben is fully capable of beating a man to death with his bare hands, and Paul is no lightweight. Will the three of you be enough?"

Gregson did not look at Lestrade as the man replied, "We'll have to be." He had a bad feeling about tonight.

* * *

><p>Paul and Reuben were not alone. Gregson winced as Ugly Garrett slammed Lestrade into one of the glass jewelry cases while Lowell looked on. He mentally cursed as West looked over from where he was actually coming off worse in a fight with Paul and Reuben and snarled for Gregson to stop standing around and make himself useful.<p>

There was nothing for it; Gregson threw himself into the fight. He promised himself, as he found himself face to face with Lowell, that if he was still alive after they got Craddock he would never do this sort of thing again.

He threw a punch at Lowell. The man blocked it and hit Gregson in the face. Gregson staggered back and clutched at his now bloody nose. Lowell advanced, knocked him down and the last thing Gregson saw was the man's fist once again coming directly towards his face.

He woke to a sudden burst of pain in his side. "What the devil was that?" The angry demand cut through his not quite clear thoughts. He opened his eyes to see West glaring down at him, and realized the pain in his side had been from the older Inspector's boot connecting with his ribs.

"I-" Gregson could not think of a thing to say.

"You nearly got us killed, boy." West was livid. Gregson wondered if he should have gone to church Sunday after all. He had been so tired, but that might have been his last chance.

"E's still learnin', Wes'" Lestrade slurred from somewhere beyond Gregson's range of vision.

"Thought you said he was ready." West retorted.

"Said 'e 'ad to learn sometime." Lestrade countered. Even half conscious Lestrade apparently did not care to be misquoted. "All righ', lad?" He asked, and Gregson could only assume Lestrade was talking to him. No one in their right mind would ever call West 'lad'.

He rolled over and slowly climbed to his feet, assessing the damage. "I thig he broge by dose." He offered, considering the swollen and painful member. At least the bleeding had stopped.

"Here." West reached forward and there was a flash of pain followed by a sickening sound. "Don't suppose you want that to heal crooked." He rolled his eyes. "You were lucky." He told Gregson.

Gregson knew better. Nobody got lucky where Lowell was concerned. He wondered how long it would take West to recall that fact.

West crossed the room to where Lestrade was sitting half crouched against a wall. He grabbed the smaller Inspector by his arm and hauled him to his feet. Lestrade bit back a moan and leaned back against the wall unsteadily.

"We got Paul." West told Lestrade. "The others escaped, though, and I doubt he's going to talk, unless-"

"No." Lestrade cut him off, sounding a bit more like himself. "Absolutely not."

West shrugged. "Suit yourself." He said, a trifle irritated. "We need to get everything taken care of tonight. If we leave it till tomorrow-"

"They'll find a way to get Paul out of it." Lestrade finished wearily. "Let's get him back to the Yard." He said, though for once he left Gregson and West to deal with transporting the man back instead of taking an active hand in it himself.


	4. Alone in a room with no witnesses

Gregson realized a second too late, as he headed home, that he was being followed. A strong hand closed over his shoulder a little too tightly, and Gregson deemed stopping to listen to what his unidentified companion had to say his best course of action.

He was not relieved to turn and find himself face to face with Inspector West. "Sir?" He asked, hoping he had kept the alarm out of his voice even as he tried to tell himself he had no reason to fear West.

Unless West found out he was running with Craddock without finding out that Lestrade had put him up to it. If that happened, Gregson was as good as dead.

"Pull another stunt like tonight's," West warned him, "someone's going to get killed."

"It won't happen again." Gregson hoped he was telling the truth.

"It had better not." If West were suspicious, he was not suspicious enough to actually do more than throw veiled threats in Gregson's direction. It was still more attention than the younger man wanted.

He was relieved when West left him standing there without uttering another word.

* * *

><p>Gregson entered Scotland Yard the next morning just in time to see Lestrade slap a pair of handcuffs on Ugly Garrett's wrists.<p>

Unfortunately for Lestrade, handcuffs were not much of a deterrent; Ugly Garrett simply knocked the smaller man backwards into a wall. He lunged forward and closed his hands around Lestrade's neck before the man could completely recover and actually lifted him off the ground.

Gregson stayed where he was. There were too many people here. It was too public. There may have been a battle going on within Scotland Yard, but it was never this out in the open.

If Gregson had to guess who was likely responsible for what was happening, his money would have been on Lestrade. Lestrade was just dumb enough to pick a fight with one of Craddock's men in a room full of corrupt police men. Then again, nobody was moving to help Ugly Garrett either. Paul's arrest had people worried.

West and Johnson appeared out of nowhere and dragged Ugly Garrett off of Lestrade, who collapsed against the wall gasping for breath and rubbing his throat.

"Apparently Lestrade got a hold of his tie during the fight I assume took place last night." Gregson almost jumped-he had not heard Adams come up behind him. "He tried to return it, said Ugly Garrett had dropped it last night at the robbery. Ugly Garrett went to accept the tie and Lestrade cuffed him." Adams chuckled, though he also looked worried. "Lestrade had better watch himself." He muttered as those present stirred and began to go about their business. "Craddock will not be happy to have lost two of his men, and nobody's going to be comfortable with how public this incident was."

Gregson resisted the urge to sigh as Adams went his way and Gregson went his own. The man was right; Lestrade might easily have started an all out war by his actions this morning.

"Craddock isn't going to like you putting two of his men away." Gregson warned the other Inspector as he entered the man's office and locked the door behind him.

Lestrade looked up, and Gregson mentally winced as he got his first real glimpse of the man's face after his introduction to at least one glass jewelry case the night before. Small, mercifully shallow cuts littered the skin on his face and left Gregson with the mental image of Kristina Lestrade threatening her brother if he did not hold still while she picked pieces of glass out of his face and likely his arms, hands, and back as well. A quick glance confirmed that Lestrade's hands had not escaped last night's excitement unscathed.

"I thought I would act before he caught me alone somewhere today." Lestrade replied without apology. "He had murder in his eyes this morning when he walked in. I chose to provoke him sooner rather than later and by accident."

"West didn't quite threaten me last night after the attempted robbery." Gregson said instead of calling Lestrade an idiot.

Lestrade scowled. "Don't do anything that would make him suspicious." He warned unnecessarily. Gregson rolled his eyes.

"You think?" He sneered. "Why don't we just tell West what we're trying to do?"

"Because West already thinks I'm a fool for trusting you." Lestrade admitted, catching Gregson off-guard.

Gregson waited, but Lestrade did not seem eager to elaborate. "Why?" He finally asked-demanded, if the truth be told-and Lestrade hesitated.

He did not do so for long, however. "We-West, Superintendent Beals, and I-did a thorough research on your background before your transfer was approved." He revealed, and Gregson wondered why he was not as surprised as he probably should have been to find that Lestrade, as young as he was, had been involved in approving his transfer to Scotland Yard.

Gregson waited, and after a moment Lestrade continued. "There was an incident in your records that caught our attention. A fellow police officer tried to bribe you. You refused the bribe, and reported the nature of said bribe, but you never named the officer who tried to bribe you."

"It was dark, and I never got good look at his face." Gregson replied automatically, his thoughts flashing back to the misled young Constable who had gotten mixed up in a nasty gnag-he had been killed the same night he had spoken to Gregson for his error in judgement concerning his fellow officer. There had really been no point in naming names. All it would have done was defame the character of a dead young man who had put himself between a woman and her drunken-and armed-husband without a second thought for his own life two days before he was brutally murdered.

Gregson wrenched his attention away from the still-painfully conflicting memories of a dead man and forced himself to listsen to Lestrade's reply.  
>"So your report said." It took Gregson half a second to remember what he, and his report, apparently, had said. "West didn't like it." Lestrade could be infuriatingly vague when he chose. "We had a difference of opinion about you, and in the end the Superintendent approved your transfer. West hasn't changed his mind about you. He probably never will."<p>

Gregson wanted to be certain he understood. "So West wouldn't believe that I could get close to Craddock and his men without either becoming or already being as corrupt as they are, is that pretty much it?" He asked. Lestrade nodded, and Gregson wondered if the smaller man were trying to get them both killed.

"So now what do we do?" He asked.

"Try not to get killed." Lestrade said, and Gregson almost laughed. "Do our jobs, and wait for Craddock to make the next move."

It was not much of a plan, but it was better than nothing. Gregson excused himself and made his way to his own office.

Craddock was waiting for him.

"You just met with Lestrade." Craddock commented from behind Gregson's desk.

"He's got his sights set on you." Gregson replied, going to the window. He was not telling Craddock anything he was not already aware of.

"What's he going to do next?" Craddock wanted to know. Gregson made himself turn his back to the man and looked out on the world outside.

"He's waiting for you to make the next move." Gregson said to the window. "What happens if someone sees you in here?" He asked.

Craddock laughed, and Gregson realized the man did not actually care about 'his' men beyond what they could do for him. "Just tell him I tried to persuade you to switch teams."

He, of course, was Lestrade. "And I told you to go take a swim in the river?" Gregson asked the window. "Do you think he'll believe that?"  
>"Lestrade will believe what he wants to believe." Craddock said scornfully. "Lestrade wants to be able to trust you."<p>

It was not Lestrade that Gregson was worried about. "You think so?" He replied absently.

"Lestrade knows that there are precious few people he can trust here. He took interest in you from the beginning because he wanted to 'get to you' before anyone else did. He wants to be able to trust you. He'll believe you."

Gregson hoped that was the end of their meeting. Unfortunately, Craddock did not seem to be finished with him.

"Lestrade has a sister." Craddock said, and Gregson knew he was in for it. "Pretty thing. Have you met her?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Gregson only nodded and hoped, albeit without much confidence, that Craddock was not about to suggest what he knew the man was about to suggest.

"It might be useful to have someone close to her." Better Gregson than one of Craddock's other men, the younger Inspector supposed as he studied Craddock's reflection in the window.

"Whether Lestrade trusts me or not, I doubt he'll take kindly to me paying attention to his sister." Gregson offered. He was pretty certain that Lestrade would not like this new development in the slightest.

"I'm sure you'll be just fine." Craddock sneered, then he paused. "But I suppose we could arrange something that would make Lestrade glad you happened to be around."

"I highly doubt that will be necessary." Gregson turned to face Craddock as he spoke, mentally picturing the result of anyone foolish enough to threaten Lestrade's sister. "It will cause some tension, but Lestrade's a professional. He won't let it interfere with the job."

Nonetheless Gregson wondered, as Craddock finally vacated his office, just what Lestrade would do to him if his sister ended up hurt. Lestrade took his job and the law seriously, but Gregson did not know the man well enough to know whether either of those would be enough to save him where family was concerned.

Gregson settled in behind his desk with a sigh. This was rapidly turning into a nightmare. He wondered how much worse things were going to get.  
>He nearly swore when West walked in through the open doorway without knocking. Things were about to get much worse.<p>

"Was that Craddock?" West skewered Gregson with a glance.

"Yes." The younger Inspector refuse to let the older see how much he unsettled Gregson. "He was after information concerning Lestrade's doings."

"And you told him what?" West demanded, and Gregson figured it was safest to go with the truth, or at least part of it.

"I told him that Lestrade was waiting for him to make the next move." Gregson admitted, adding quickly. "It's nothing Lestrade wouldn't have told Craddock himself."

West looked even unhappier than he usually did. "So you think it's all right to give Craddock information as long as it's 'useless' information, is that it?"  
>Gregson somehow managed not to wince, or flinch, or bolt for the door. "I thought that I would rather not anger him if I could help it while I was trapped in a room with him and no witnesses."<p>

Just as he was currently trapped in his office with West and no witnesses-Gregson wondered if he did not prefer the former situation to the present one.  
>West considered Gregson's defense, but did not think highly of it. "Lestrade the best chance Scotlan Yard has." He told Gregson coolly. "The others would go back to pretending nothing's wrong if anythin happened to him. I'm not going to let Lestrade get killed just because he put his trust in the wrong person."<p>

West would not think twice about getting rid of Gregson if he thought the younger Inspector was endangering their operation. It mad Gregson's blood run cold to realize it anew.

"I'm on Lestrade's team." Gregson reminded West carefully. "He has nothing to fear from me."

"And I suppose you're going to tell him about the visitor you just had." West sneered.

Gregson managed not to sigh. "I was planning to." He tried to assure West, but knew it would do little good, if any. "This afternoon," he added more desperately that he would have like, "when he drags me out to go walking over the city, but right now I have things I need to do here, so if you'll excuse me..." He reached for the nearest stack of papers and forced himself to at least look as if he were focusing on the top paper.

The words and the action were closer to Lestrade's normal behavior that Gregson's own, and that was perhaps why it worked. West left the other Inspector alone in his office without another word.

It was a rough morning that left Gregson actually grateful to be able to sir and bury himself in the paperwork that seemed to pile continually higher without ever offering evein the slightest hint of reprieve.

Gregson was able to get a good portion of the work taken care of-though never all of it, there was always more-before Lestrade dropped by to drag him all around london on who knew what sort of cases-Gregson knew Lestrade well enough to know the man was nearly incapable of letting go of even the most hopeless and most absurd of cases that came his way.

To give him credit, Lestrade had also solved a number of the hopeless cases by sheer stubbornness and force of will.

He had also, Gregson reflected irritably as he stood staring up at the man through the thin branches of a rather tall oak in Hyde Park, rescued more kittens, lost children, grandparents, and favorite toys than anyone so impatient with anything that might interfere with his job should ever have the patience for. Then again, perhaps Lestrade mere considered it all part of being a police man.


	5. Paranoia kicks in

Author's note: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing. It is really encouraging. I am going to try to start responding to reviews individually, but until that happens please accept my sincerest thanks for taking the time to let me know what you think. You guys are great!

* * *

><p>It was not the first time either Inspector had been prevailed upon to rescue someone's kitten, but it was the first time Gregson had stood below waiting for the tree's branches to snap beneath the weight of even the small man currently easing his way out toward the unconcerned black and white kitten washing himself about two feet away.<p>

The kitten's owner stood beside Gregson, out of harm's way should Lestrade actually fall, wringing her hands and fretting about 'Speckle,' the kitten.

"Your kitten will be fine." Gregson assured the little girl yet again. "He's done this before many, many times."

It was true, though Gregson thought it unlikely that it had ever been in such a scrawny tree. Even Lestrade had been slightly doubtful of the branches' ability to hold him or he would have already made his way up, scooped up the kitten, and been back on the ground by now.

Lestrade gave up on trying to get closer to the small creature and instead resorted to trying to get it to come to him.

He was a little too successful-Gregson could not quite make out the muffled oath that escaped him as the thing pounced on his outstretched hand and wriggling fingers. All the same, Lestrade had the thing now. He picked it up and stuffed it into his jacket pocket before making his descent.

Gregson was relieved when the other Inspector had both feet back on the ground, though he hated to admit it even to himself. Lestrade returned the errant feline to its owner and sent both on their way with a fond smile and soft chuckle.

Gregson would not have expected either reaction from the man before him had he not seen them previously in similar situations. Lestrade seemed to have a soft spot where children were concerned.

"You're a hero." Gregson taunted as Lestrade straightened his tie and dusted himself off. "She'll be singing your praises over supper tonight."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "It was just a cat, Gregson." He retorted, but he looked uncomfortable nonetheless.

"Inspector Lestrade: defender of kittens, protector of little old ladies, good with small children and-"

"Shut up." Lestrade cut Gregson off.

It had been a trying day, an most of it was Lestrade's fault. Gregson considered irritating the smaller Inspector for a little longer but gave it up. They had more important things to worry about right now.

"Craddock stopped by my office." He muttered as they left the park. "He wanted to know what you were up to." Lestrade waited, so Gregson continued. "I told him you were waiting for him to make the next move." Gregson grimaced and added. "He also wants me to get close to your sister."

Lestrade stopped dead in his tracks. "What?" It came out nearly a whisper.

Gregson did not repeat himself. "He left just in time for West to show up. Lestrade, you have to tell him."

It a second for Lestrade to switch tracks. "He won't trust you anyway." Lestrade grunted after a moment. "It'll only make things worse."

Gregson knew better than to ask how things could get worse-they could always get wors. He cursed Lestrade under his breath; he stood a good chance of being murdered by either Craddock or West if he were not very, very careful.

Lestrade turned and fixed Gregson with a look that rooted him firmly in place. "I won't kill you if my sister gets hurt," he began, his dark eyes glittering menacingly, "but I may break something."

Lestrade had a proficiency for breaking bones that was uncanny and unnerving, though it was thankfully a skill he rarely demonstrated. Gregson had no idea how or where Lestrade had picked up that particular talent, but after watching the smaller man brek the hand of a rapist who tried to resist arrest without even a shift in his facial expression, Gregson had decided he could do without that piece of information.

"She won't." Gregson replied, but he was not fooling either of them. Craddock's move had been a good one, and it would be far to easy for something to go wrong.

* * *

><p>It made the hair on the back of Gregson's neck stand on end to pay a visit to Lestrade's home when the man was not there. Not that he enjoyed going there when Lestrade <em>was<em> home, either.

He also did not care for the thought of toying with a woman's affections for the sake of his job. It went against everything the man had been taught, and everything he believed, at least as far as women were concerned.

"My brother is not home." Kristina Lestrade informed the Inspector. She frowned. "You did not come to tell me he is hurt, I hope?" She asked.

Gregson shook his head and allowed himself an uncertain smile. "Your brother is not why I am here, Miss Lestrade." He told her.

It felt like a lie, since this whole mess was Lestrade's fault in the first place, and it made Gregson even more uncomfortable.

Lestrade's sister humored him. "Then why are you here, Inspector?" She asked.

"I'm not on duty." Gregson said instead of answering. "You don't have to call me Inspector."

The woman considered that. "What should I call you then?" She asked.

Gregson hesitated. "My friends call me Tobias." He hoped he did not sound as reluctant as he felt.

Lestrade's sister fixed him with a gaze that reminded Gregson strongly of her brother. He considered how similar brother and sister where while she studied him.

"Only if you call me Kristina, Tobias." She finally said. She flashed him a bright smile. "I can't invite you in; it wouldn't be proper with Giles out." She said apologetically. "Would you care to take a walk, though? It worries Giles for me to wander about by myself, so I find I don't get out as much as I'd like."

Kristina Lestrade was, upon closer examination, not as much like her brother as Gregson had supposed. She was pleasant company, as easygoing and friendly as her brother was not, something Gregson could not decide whether or not to be grateful for. He was starting to like Lestrade's sister in spite of himself, and her quick smile and ready laughter made Gregson wonder a little at how different she and her brother seemed to be from each other.

He said as much before he realized he was doing so and braced himself for the worst-but Kristina only shrugged.

"He's had it hard." She allowed, then caught herself. "He's different at thome. He has to be strong on the job: hard, stern, tough, otherwise the work would tear him apart."

Gregson could sympathize with that last bit, though he was not certain he believed the woman when she claimed her brother was different at home.

"I've always wondered at the fact that he put up with your fussing." He admitted, and Kristina laughed.

"He's used to it by now." She said fondly. "I've been looking after him since we were children."

Lestrade as a child was a disturbing thought, and one Gregson endeavored to clear from his mind as quickly as possible.

The man himself was waiting at the door when Gregson returned Kristina to her home. He raised an eyebrow at Gregson but all he said was, "I was beginning to wonder" to his sister.

"Worry, you mean." Kristina scolded teasingly. "You worry too much, Giles."

_Giles Lestrade_. The man's first name was not one to attract attention unless you coupled it with his last. Giles Lestrade sounded distinctly French to Gregson; it made him curious, but not overly concerned.

Lestrade spoke English like a born Londoner-his accent was flawless, if a bit refined for his limited vocabulary. He had certainly never seen anything to suggest that the man spoke any French. It was not unheard of for people to give their children foreign names-though they did tend to endure their share of teasing growing up.

"I'm a policeman in London whose sister is home alone all day." Lestrade pointed out mildly, interrupting Gregson's musings. "I'm allowed to worry."

"Your sister is capable of taking care of herself," Kristina replied, patting her brother on the shoulder affectionately, "and no fool, either. And anyway, I was safe enough. I had an escort."  
>Lestrade chose not to comment.<p>

Kristina shook her head in amusement and turned back to Gregson. "Good evening, Tobias." She said, eliciting another raised eyebrow from her brother.

"Good evening." Gregson replied a bit stiffly. He could not help it, not with Lestrade standing there. "I enjoyed our walk." He managed.

Kristina smiled. "So did I." She said. "Come have dinner with us Monday evening." She added, her eyes twinkling merrily. She did not give Gregson a chance to consider getting out of it before ducking past her brother into the house.

Gregson decided he had heard correctly. The frown that crossed Lestrade's features for less than half a second confirmed that his ears were functioning properly.

He turned and left. There was no point in wasting pleasantries on Lestrade.

* * *

><p>Gregson was wary. The lights were on in the sitting room and his front door was unlocked. His tired mind tried to run through possible reasons for these two oddities but failed to come up with even one explanation.<p>

When logic failed to produce an explanation paranoia kicked in, and Gregson tried to decide who was most likely to lie in wait for him in his own home to kill him.

He thought about going back for Lestrade, but discarded that idea almost immediately. He was not ashamed to ask for help when he needed it, not even from Lestrade, but if it were any of the people he could think of that might want to kill him, Lestrade might not be much help.

Frankly, Gregson figured that in a fight between West and Lestrade, West would kill Lestrade before the other man even realized ther even was a fight. Craddock, on the other hand, would simply bring enough people along that Gregson would not stand a chance even if Lestrade were with him.

Gregson resigned himself to his fate and promised himself he would not go down without a fight. He stepped up to the porch and seized the handle of the door.

He turned the knob and slipped inside, quickly shutting the door behind him. He heard footsteps coming from the sitting room-more than one person, by the sound of it-and set to launch himself at the first person to step through the doorway into the hall.

Instead he stared stupidly at the three men who did step through. When he did recover several seconds later it was to swear at the three men he had grown up with.

Bartholomew, predictably, never batted an eye at either Gregson's entrance or his greeting. He was a deceptively solemn looking man with raven hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see into the very soul. He had a crooked nose from a scrap he and Gregson had gotten into years ago over something Gregson could no longer remember.

Tommy, blonde as Gregson and quick to see humor in everything, chose to laugh at the expression he later claimed was on Gregson's face as they came through the door.

"You looked like you were fifteen again and preparing to face my Mum." Tommy declared, and Gregson shuddered. Tommy's mother had been the scourge of the boys' childhood, and Gregson had often wondered how a woman so forboding could have a son who saw the bright side of everything.

It might have been the ever present smile and rarely missing laughter that made Tommy look the youngest of their group. His slight build and quick energy certainly did not help the matter, but Tommy was nonetheless the same age as his friends.

Archie stood in the doorway, further back that the other two, bright green eyes studying Gregson critically. "You gave me a key." He finally said, holding up the item in question.

Gregson felt a little foolish. "Why on earth would I do that?" He retorted, though he knew the red-head would question him further about both his reaction and his appearance later. Archie did not miss much, and though Gregson had given little more than requisite thought to his appearance lately, he imaginied he looked a bit rough after the week he had had.

"You were drunk." Archie admitted, and Gregson laughed. "So has the new job been keeping you away, or is it a girl?"

"Why a girl?" Gregson demanded, wondering how long his friends had been waiting for him.

Archie shrugged. "Tommy met a girl, and this is the first time we've seen him since."

Tommy laughed along with Archie, not in the least embarrassed. "I'd bring her along if I didn't know better than to drag a poor innocent girl along for dinner where she'd be surrounded by four savage men. One's bad enough."

"The Yard's kept me pretty busy." Gregson responded to Archie's original question. Bartholomew was gesturing behind Tommy's back for Gregson not to, under any circumstances, ask about this girl. He and Archie had apparently already heard plenty.

"It certainly looks like it." Archie joked, but he looked concerned.

"They've been running you ragged, unless I'm greatly mistaken."

Gregson shrugged. "It's been an interesting week." He admitted as they all drifted back towards the sitting room.

"You look like you tried to take on somebody twice your size." Bartholomew commented.

"We stopped a robbery the other night." Gregson said evasively. "And you should see my partner. He got a face full of glass that night." He did not really want to sit and talk about work.

"Bartholomew got bored." Tommy said, as if just remembering. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid he got loose in the kitchen."

That meant there was food, and better food than Gregson was capable of making.

It was a cheery supper that night. The stew was delicious, the company excellent, and Gregson was able to set aside all the stress and worry of his job for a little while and relax.

Tommy eventually started talking about the girl he had met anyway, and likely would have gone on for the rest of the night if Bartholomew and Archie had let him.

It was late when Gregson finally forced himself to see them off, with a promise that they would all get together again soon (and not, Archie insisted, in another month because they got tired of waiting around for him).


	6. Fortunes change

It was Gregson's day off, but he dragged himself out of bed that morning anyway, figuring he should probably at least go to the morning church service, just in case Craddock or West or Lestrade tried to kill him during the upcoming week.

He almost had the back pew to himself; people still did not trust the police, not even if they did go to church. Gregson hardly minded. He felt more comfortable keeping to himself anyway. He had spent too much time watching his back at the Yard lately to be very comfortable in a crowd.

He did not actually pay much attention to the service; he found himself instead worrying about the situation with Craddock and trying to decide what he should do if West decided he was a liability and needed to be removed.

Kristina Lestrade also weighed on his mind. he did not like the idea of trying to get close to the woman simply to keep up his cover with Craddock. He also did not care to think about what Lestrade would do to him if something happened to her.

All in all, Gregson got little out of the actual service other than a chance to sit and think. He felt a little better for having gone, though it was silly to think that Craddock or West might have mercy on him simply because he had gone to church this morning.

He thought about calling on Kristina again after the service, but could not bring himself to do it. Instead he headed back home and mentally went through the list of things that needed done at home.

He remembered the girl that had been pulled from the river and wondered how he could have forgotten her. It was a hopeless case, but the girl still deserved what little Gregson could do for her.

He adjusted his course and made his way to the streets near where the girl had been found. He would ask around, see if anyone knew anything about a missing girl. He would probably not find anything-he would be lucky if anyone talked to him at all-but at least he could try.

* * *

><p>Gregson spent Monday morning going through the Missing Persons file. He shook his head and marveled at the fact that out of two hundred reports, only six of them had been filed in the last forty years.<p>

"Unbelievable." He muttered under his breath. The most recent report was from two years ago, filed by Lestrade.

It stated the boy's name, age, height, hair color, eye color, and even an estimation of his weight, but there was no mention of personal details that might offer a clue as to where he might have been before he disappeared.

The parent's names were listed as well as their address, and Gregson recognized the street with a start. A twelve year old boy had disappeared on Lestrade's street, and the man had filed a report based on what little he knew-there had been no cooperation at all from the family.

The boy had never been found, and a part of Gregson-a very small part-wondered how long it had taken Lestrade to stop looking.

It gnawed at Gregson, especially after a fruitless evening spent having doors slammed in his face-a few after being spat at by those answering them. He would never find the girl's family. He would never find the man that had abused and murdered her.

Gregson knew life was unfair. He knew it well. That did not mean he had to like it.

* * *

><p>"Have you seen Johnson?" Lestrade demanded. Gregson pushed aside irritation at the fact that Lestrade had simply barged into his office without so much as knocking first and focused on the implications behind the man's question.<p>

"No." He replied. If Johnson had not shown up for work today, it could very easily be because he was dead in a gutter somewhere. Gregson was up and following Lestrade out the door before the man could even tell him to come along.

"Adams hasn't seen him either?" Gregson asked, and Lestrade shook his head.

"Neither has West." Lestrade added without prompting.

It was possible that Johnson's help in arresting Ugly Garrett had not gone without notice. It was utter foolishness not to expect that crossing Craddock, especially in so blatant a manner, would not be without its repurcussions. Johnson had been asking for trouble in getting involved so directly.

But Johnson was an experienced policeman. He knew his job, and he knew the risks. He would have known he was inviting trouble. He should have been expecting it.

That gave him a chance, Gregson told himself.

They checked the man's home first. It was dark; the Inspector was not there. Lestrade swore under his breath while Gregson wondered if Johnson had ever even made it home the previous night.

He also wondered if it would do any good to ask the neighbors if they knew anything. If they were anything like his own neighbors it would not.

Lestrade tried anyway. If he noticed the dark looks they were getting or the rush to close the doors on them, he did not react to it. Gregson frankly doubted the man had noticed. he could be rather oblivious at times.

One of the neighborhood children did confirm that the man had made it home the night before, but he also held out a hand as if expecting some sort of compensation for his trouble.

Lestrade fixed him with a stern look. "Has Inspector Johnson ever caused any trouble for you or your family?" He demanded. The boy did not answer. "Has he ever done you any harm?"

Lestrade seemed to expect an answer of some sort, so the boy shook his head. "I thought not." Lestrade said sharply. "If I had to guess I'd wager he keeps to himself and meanwhile the people on this street try not to do anything that might attract his attention. That's more peace and quiet than most folks get around here, and you'd do well not to forget it."

The boy stared up at Lestrade with wide eyes, and the other Inspector sighed. "Never mind, lad." He said, relenting. "Run along."  
>The boy was off like a shot.<p>

Gregson shook his head. There were enough crooked policemen running around that most people could hardly be expected to realize that not all of them were corrupt, or to recognize which ones were actually interested in protecting them. The distrust and dislike went with the job. Lestrade should know that.

They turned and retraced their steps back toward Scotland Yard, keeping an eye out for their missing man as they did so.

Adams was waiting for their return. Lestrade shook his head before the man could even ask. "No sign of him." He said.

Adams grimaced. "He could be dead for all we know." He said grimly.

"He probably is." The older Inspector sighed. "First Smith, now Johnson." He grumbled. "I'll head out to look for him after my shift is over, but..." Adams did not finish his sentence. He did not have to.  
>The chances of them actually finding Johnson were small-and getting smaller by the hour. The chances of him still being alive if and when they found him were even less.<p>

"Watch yourself." Lestrade reminded the older man unnecessarily. Adams chuckled and went on his way.

* * *

><p>"I was beginning to wonder." Whether or not Kristina was intentionally echoing her brother's words from a few days ago or not Gregson did not know. He only knew that he was not looking forward to having to sit down and have dinner with Lestrade. His only consolation was that at least Lestrade was likely not going to enjoy one bit of the meal either.<p>

"We have guests." The woman added, exchanging a glance with her brother that Gregson could not decipher. "I hope you don't mind."  
>The two men followed her inside. Kristina waved them toward the sitting room as she herself headed for the kitchen.<p>

Lestrade stepped inside and stopped short. Still in the doorway, Gregson could not blame him.

Inspector Johnson was seated uncomfortably in the rocking chair. He was dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing the day before. Gregson noted this even as his eyes came to rest on the bandage on the man's head.

Smith was present as well. Taking his life in his own hands, the man had taken a seat at Lestrade's desk.

"I didn't touch anything." Smith defended himself before Lestrade say a word. "It was more comfortable than the bench."

Lestrade looked from Smith to Johnson. "What happened?" He asked.

"Ran into Lowell." Johnson admitted. "Turned a corner and he was waiting for me. Not the brightest fellow-knocked me out and left me for dead."

"Gretchen Harris, lives down the street found him and came to me." Smith put in. Smith was the only member of Scotland Yard Gregson could think of whose neighbours did not hate him. That unlikely detail had probably saved Johnson's life.

"You saw his face?" Lestrade asked. Johnson nodded cautiously. "We can get him, then. Attempted murder."

Smith frowned at Lestrade. "You sure you want to go there? You've already arrested one man in the Yard. _That_ was pushing it. Arresting a second is downright idiocy, Lestrade."

Lestrade shrugged. "I've already made enemies down there." He pointed out, unconcerned. "What can they do that they haven't already tried?"

Smith sighed and shook his head. "Plenty, not that that'll change your mind. It's been nice knowing you, Lestrade."

Gregson wondered if Lestrade were _trying_ to get himself killed. Sometimes Lestrade was a complete idiot.

He wondered what that made him for working with the man.

* * *

><p>Lestrade had already dealt with Lowell the following morning when Gregson arrived, if the stunned expressions on some faces (and furious expressions on others) were any indication. Gregson tried not to actually make eye contact with anyone as he headed back toward the daft Inspector's office. Just because Craddock knew Gregson was (allegedly) working for him did not mean anyone else did, nor did it mean Craddock would necessarily trouble himself to lend a hand if Gregson found himself in trouble.<p>

Lestrade had not made it back to his office yet, so Gregson waited. He was not ready to go back out and deal with the tension outside. It felt as if everyone were steeled for battle, and one wrong word or even twitch might set off what would likely be a very bloody war (certainly figuratively, though it would not be going to far to imagine there might also be literal bloodshed).

There was a knock, and Inspector Crane poked his head in. "Nasty bit of work, that was." He commented, an odd gleam in his eye..

Crane was one of those few they still were not entirely sure about. They suspected he was involved in some unpleasant business, but had seen little to confirm their suspicions and found even less to prove them. Either way, he was not a particularly pleasant individual to be around.

"I missed it." Gregson admitted. "Just got here." He scowled. "I've been here over a year, and Lestrade's still got me reporting to his office every morning as if I'd only been here a couple of weeks."

"Lestrade's a queer one." Crane replied noncommitally. "Careful, or he'll get you in trouble."

Gregson laughed. "Don't I know it." He shuddered. "Craddock's warned me the same thing." He was hoping dropping a name might get Crane to say something that might give him an idea as to whether the man were friend or foe.

It did not work. Crane did not react to the statement, but his gaze instead drifted down to an envelope in his hand. "This was left for Lestrade at the front desk." He said, holding it out to Gregson. "I have more important things to do than stand around waiting for him. See that he gets it, will you?"

Gregson grudgingly accepted the envelope. "I'll do that."

Crane nodded and left without so much as a thank you.

Lestrade arrived five minutes later, looking not much worse than he had the last time Gregson had seen him. "You get Lowell?" Gregson asked as Lestrade closed and locked the door behind him. Lestrade nodded.

Gregson held out the envelope. "Crane stopped by. Said this was left for you."

Lestrade took it without a word and opened it. He pulled out the slip of paper inside and read it over before passing it to Gregson.

"_Fortunes change_." It read.


	7. Not very useful

Lestrade had on a different jacket and tie than he had the day before, but everything else was the same, which meant that he had not been home last night, or at least, not for very long. The change in jacket and tie were only because the man kept a spare jacket and tie in his office for such occasions. Most people would not know the difference.

His jaw was clenched; his eyes were haunted. He was pouring over what looked like a coroner's report for what was probably not the fourth, fifth, or even sixth time. He had not noticed Gregson enter his office, so the man promptly turned around and left.

He returned a few minutes later, coffee cup in hand. Lestrade started as he plunked it down on the desk, his concentration broken. He had not seen or heard Gregson return either.

The smaller Inspector stared stupidly at the cup for several seconds before fixing Gregson with a look that was both thoroughly puzzled and a little bit suspicious.

"You've been up all night." Gregson said, his voice not sounding quite as unconcerned as he would have liked. He hesitated for a fraction of a second as Lestrade considered the offering of coffee. "Another one?" He asked.

Lestrade's eyes flashed. He nodded stiffly. "Another child found dead in the streets." He growled. "Naked, mutilated, it's..." What exactly it was, Lestrade could not find the words for. "That's the third one, and I'm no nearer to catching the man responsible than I was after the first." He pushed the coffee away, and Gregson belatedly realized that he had never seen the other man actually drink coffee. The man mostly favored tea, even after an all night stakeout.

Lestrade, albeit with considerable difficulty, wrenched his mind from one case to focus on the reason Gregson was here. "You haven't heard anything else from Craddock?" He asked.

Gregson shook his head. "Not yet, though I don't doubt I'll here something soon, especially with Lowell out of the way. You've rounded up everyone in his gang but him."

Lestrade frowned. "Everyone we know about." He cautioned. "And this note..."

"Fortunes change." Gregson repeated the message. "You think it's a threat?"

Lestrade shrugged. "I don't think it's a friendly warning." He retorted. "Be careful."

Gregson rolled his eyes. "_You_ be careful."

Craddock caught up with Gregson and escorted him to his office. "Early morning War Council?" Craddock practically sneered, and Gregson wished he could get away with punching the man in the mouth.

"He's too busy worrying about that child killing case to notice much else." Gregson said instead of resorting to violence. "Another one turned up last night."

Craddock shook his head. "Now that is just wrong." He said, and Gregson almost stared. He would not have thought Craddock, of all people, would be bothered by a child killer. He sighed, then changed the subject. "So how are things going with the sister?" He asked.

Gregson shrugged. "Slowly. I don't want Lestrade to shoot me for looking at her the wrong way." It was not strictly true, but Gregson figured it was believable enough. Craddock seemed to buy it, though he also seemed to find the thought of Lestrade shooting Gregson for molesting his sister amusing.

"She seems to enjoy my company, however." Gregson added. "The woman herself is not a problem."

That seemed to satisfy Craddock. They reached Gregson's office, and the younger man decided to take a chance. "Look, er-" He took a deep breath. "Lestrade's putting your people away left and right. How do I know I'm not next? And even if I'm not, there's only two of us left now? What happens next?"

To Gregson's dismay, Craddock only laughed. The sound sent chills down his spine. "I'm taking care of Lestrade." Craddock assured Gregson. "Don't you worry about that."

Gregson frowned. "He got some kind of note yesterday..."

Craddock smiled. Gregson tried unsuccessfully to return it.

* * *

><p>Gregson spent most of the morning obsessing over his own coroner's report. It was a wonder either Inspector had actually gotten one, but it seemed that Police Surgeon Barton, while not actually an ally, did not care for these particular murders.<p>

His suspicions concerning the girl's death had been correct. Her murderer had likely abducted her from somewhere, dragged her somewhere where he would not have to worry about being interrupted, taken advantage of her, killed her, and dumped the body in the river.

And even if someone had seen any of this going on, it was improbable that it would be reported.

Sometimes Gregson wondered why he had transferred to Scotland Yard. He could do a lot better somewhere else. He could have just stayed put. He had caught some flack for protecting the young man who had tried to bribe him, but nothing worth leaving over.

He had been here for over a year now and he still sometimes found himself wondering what he was doing here.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and Gregson looked up to see West standing in the doorway. He wondered, as the man entered without waiting for an invitation, if the man had finally found out about Craddock, jumped to the natural conclusion, and was coming to put an end to him.

"You want to prove yourself, boy?" West asked. It was the last thing Gregson was expecting to hear from the man.

He considered the question before answering it. "To you?" He asked. "How?" West was not the kind of person you agreed with without knowing full well what you were agreeing to.

"I need a couple of men to take with me tonight." West explained. "You and Lestrade are unfortunately my best choices."

_That_ was flattering. "What are you doing tonight?" Gregson asked cautiously.

"I've tracked a couple of...miscreants to their hideout. I plan on going after them." For what was not the first time, Gregson got the feeling that West was more than just an Inspector. The vague explanation did not help.

"Did you ask Lestrade?" Gregson wanted to know. West almost grinned.

"At least you aren't stupid." He said. "Yes. Lestrade said he would go. He also told me I would have to ask you."

That meant Lestrade was uneasy about the night's planned activity. Gregson may not have cared for the man, but he was not about to leave him stuck with West by himself. "All right." He agreed cautiously. "I'll do it."

"Good." West looked no happier than he usually did. He looked Gregson over skeptically, as if measuring him up against whatever the evening would hold for them. His eye fell on the coroner's report Gregson was still holding.

"Let it go, boy." West said. "You're never going to find her. Or the murderer. It's a waste of time."

Then he was gone, leaving Inspector Gregson glaring furiously after him.

* * *

><p>All Gregson knew was that they were after a gang of about four men, but West had failed to offer any explanation of who these men were or why he was after them.<p>

Gregson was hardly surprised by this; more surprising was the fact that Lestrade had let the matter pass and not demanded more information.

West had told them to be careful.

The building was quiet, with no sign that anyone had been here for some time. Gregson wondered if maybe the man had gotten his information wrong, but knew better than to suggest as much.

He spun around; he thought he had heard something. Gregson stood peering into the darkness, wishing that West had not been agaisnt using lamps. All they had to go by was moonlight from the windows.

Gregson heard a shout from the floor above and his stomach sank. That sounded an awful lot like Lestrade, and it did not sound good. He turned and bolted for the stairs.

He reached Lestrade at about the same time as two nasty looking characters did. He threw himself at the first without giving it a second's thought and shouted for West.

West appeared out of nowhere as Gregson was beginning to realize that he was outmatched. He had never been so relieved to see the man, and probably never would be again.

"That's the last two." West grunted as he dropped his opponent. He bent over to examine the two, but Gregson was more worried about Lestrade and the knife that had him pinned to a wooden beam.

"Lestrade?" He asked, scowling at the knife that had gone right through the man's shoulder. "You all right?"

Lestrade swallowed back what was either a sharp retort or a groan of pain. "Yeah." He managed, his voice tight. "I'm all right."

Gregson was not convinced. He wondered if he should not leave the knife in for now, but Lestrade himself reached up and pulled the knife out of his right shoulder with a barely muffled cry.

Gregson wheeled around to glare at West; he recognized the knife. He opened his mouth to say something, but his attention was distracted by a thud behind him. Lestrade had fallen to his knees.

Gregson directed his attention to trying to control the bleeding. He could only assume that West was taking care of his men, but he could not actually bring himself to care when he had a bleeding Inspector in front of him to worry about.

He dragged the too pale Inspector to his feet. "We're going home," he told the man, who managed to nod, but did not say anything else, "and then I'm getting a doctor."

Lestrade glared at him at that, but for once did not argue.

* * *

><p>Kristina Lestrade paled but had immediately stepped forward to help maneuver her brother in through the door. "In here." She said, moving towards the sitting room. They settled Lestrade onto the couch; the man choked back a moan and his sister fixed him with a stern glance. "You've been stabbed."<p>

"He needs a doctor." Gregson said, alarmed when Lestrade did not even look his way at the announcement. "He's lost a lot of blood. Keep him awake, will you?"

Kristina nodded. Gregson left her there and went back out, hoping he he could find someone who would actually come out at this time of night for a wounded policeman.

He found someone, a man he did not know, outside of St. Bart's and approached him. "Excuse me, doctor?" The young man looked up from the paper he was studying.

"I am a doctor." He confirmed. His eyes narrowed, and Gregson was surprised to read concern in the pale blue orbs. "Are you all right?" The doctor asked.

"I am." Gregson said quickly. "Another man is not. He was stabbed."

An eyebrow went up, and the younger man turned and marched quickly up the stairs toward the entrance to the hospital. "Where is he? Is he here?" Gregson shook his head as he followed.

"I thought it better to take him home." The man threw a sharp glance back at him at those words. "He's a policeman." He explained, and the young doctor actually stopped and studied him.

"What difference does that make?" He wanted to know.

Gregson stifled a sigh. "This is an emergency." He pointed out, and the man nodded and started walking again. Gregson studied him from behind as the walked. "You aren't from around here." He guessed.

The doctor shook his head. "I came in to deliver a series of lectures to some students." He offered. "I've also been helping at the hospital." He was quiet for a moment as Gregson followed him down the halls of a building he often had need of but rarely set foot inside any more.

"Why would you take a policeman home instead of bringing him here?" The doctor asked, stepping into an office that was neat and comfortable but obviously only temporary. He grabbed a medical bag and was off down the hall again, Gregson still trailing behind.

"It's safer." Gregson admitted. "We aren't well liked."

The doctor chuckled softly. "What police force is?" He asked, not unkindly.

Gregson shrugged. "We aren't trusted." He said, though it was really none of this man's concern. "A lot of our people can't be trusted."

Another sharp glance. "But you can." The doctor suggested. "Not that it matters, if a man is injured." He murmered, but then he stopped. "This man you want me to treat, how was he injured?" He asked seriously. "Is _he_ the sort that can be trusted?"

Gregson was tired. It had been a long day. He sighed, and met the young doctor's eyes. "If there is anyone in the city you can trust, it's Lestrade." He told the doctor. "He's a good man. He was injured in the line of duty."

The doctor nodded, satisfied. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Sanderson, as Gregson later found the man's name to be, was across the room and kneeling down next to Lestrade in less than a second. "Hello, Lestrade." The doctor sounded calm, even friendly. "I hear you're a policeman."<p>

Lestrade blinked, but did not actually reply. Sanderson was not discouraged. "You're injured." He nodded toward the man's shoulder. "Working tonight?"

Another reluctant nod. "You don't like doctors." Sanderson observed quietly. "Whatever happened, I'm sorry."

Lestrade's eyes widened ever so slightly as the young man continued. "You're losing quite a bit of blood, and I get the feeling that if you were able you would have already done something about it. Mind if I just look?"

Slowly, Lestrade nodded. Sanderson set aside the blood soaked cloth that Kristina must have been trying to slow the bleeding with and examined the wound.

"This needs treated." Sanderson said sharply. "Sooner rather than later." He looked Lestrade over. "If you don't want to bleed to death I suggest you let me help you." His voice was suddenly hard. He was no longer trying to reassure or relax the injured man in front of him.

And Lestrade let him.

Gregson was almost impressed, he had never before met anyone capable of manipulating Lestrade, and especially not of persuading the man with anything other than cold hard facts. The very thought of trying to calm Lestrade like one would a frightened child was ridiculous, and yet this man had done almost exactly that and it had actually worked.

"Thank you." Kristina thanked the young man when Lestrade was taken care of and resting comfortably-at least, as comfortably as possible. "Not many people-" she shrugged and smiled sadly at Sanderson, "not many people even care what happens to a policeman around here."

"It's hard." Sanderson replied, gathering the tools of his trade. "You worry about whether he'll come home each night, how the job's affecting him, and everywhere you go you run into people who are quick to see the worst and forget the good they do."

Kristina was staring at the man. Gregson must have been as well, because Sanderson looked from her to him and sighed. "My father was a police officer." He explained, offering them a small smile.

"I'll be in the city until Friday." He added, closing his bag. "Don't hesitate to call on me if you need anything."

Gregson nodded and saw the man to the door. When he returned Kristina was sitting with a cup of tea; she was up and brandishing a second cup at him in a flash.

"Thank you." She said as Gregson acccepted the cup and settled on to the bench. "I know you two don't exactly see eye to eye."

That was an understatment, but Gregson was not entirely certain it was unintentional. "He's a good man." He told her, and found that he did not actually mind admitting as much to her. "He's a good policeman as well. He gives the job his all, and he cares about people. And-" he hesitated there for a fraction of a second "And I trust him." He shrugged. "He's the only person I know I can trust." He scowled at the now sleeping man on the couch. "Your brother would have done the same for me." He added.

They finished their tea, and he told her he needed to get going. She nodded and walked him to the door.

"Let me know if you need anything." He told her.

* * *

><p>Gregson was crazy. Absolutely insane. There was no way he would be doing this if he were not a complete lunatic.<p>

"You stabbed him." He accused. West waited. "You stabbed one of your own people."

West shrugged. "I needed to flush out the men we were seeking. It worked."

Gregson could not believe this. "You stabbed him. We're all supposed to be on the same team."

"He'll be fine." West said, not concerned in the least. "There was no permanent damge done."

"It won't happen again." Gregson snapped at the man. "He could have been killed last night." For a moment, Gregson imagined West might just go ahead and get rid of him right there.

He turned and left Gregson standing there.

Gregson shook his head. West was dangerous, and not just to anyone he felt opposed him, but also to anyone he could use to further his cause.

He turned and nearly walked right into Craddock. "How's it going?" The man asked nastily.

Gregson resisted the urge to groan. "Lestrade was stabbed last night." He said irritably. "And no, I haven't gotten any farther with his sister."

Craddock scowled down at the younger Inspector. "You're not very useful, Gregson." He warned before sauntering off.

Gregson watched him go and sighed. He turned. A chill ran down his spine and fear made his blood run cold.

West was still in the room.

Lestrade had on a different jacket and tie than he had the day before, but everything else was the same, which meant that he had not been home last night, or at least, not for very long. The change in jacket and tie were only because the man kept a spare jacket and tie in his office.  
>His jaw was clenched; his eyes were haunted. He was pouring over what looked like a coroner's report for what was probably not the fourth, fifth, or even sixth time. He had not noticed Gregson enter his office, so the man promptly turned around and left.<br>He returned a few minutes later, coffee cup in hand. Lestrade started as he plunked it down on the desk, his concentration broken. He had not seen or heard Gregson return either.  
>The smaller Inspector stared stupidly at the cup for several seconds before fixing Gregson with a look that was both thoroughly puzzled and a little bit suspicious.<br>"You've been up all night." Gregson said, his voice not sounding quite as unconcerned as he would have liked. He hesitated for a fraction of a second as Lestrade considered the offering of coffee. "Another one?" He asked.  
>Lestrade's eyes flashed. He nodded stiffly. "Another child found dead in the streets." He growled. "Naked, mutilated, it's..." What exactly it was, Lestrade could not find the words for. "That's the third one, and I'm no nearer to catching the man responsible." He pushed the coffee away, and Gregson belatedly realized that he had never seen the other man actually drink coffee. The man mostly favored tea.<br>Lestrade, albeit with considerable difficulty, wrenched his mind from one case to focus on the reason Gregson was here. "You haven't heard anything else from Craddock?" He asked.  
>Gregson shook his head. "Not yet, though I don't doubt I'll here something soon, especially with Lowell out of the way. You've rounded up everyone in his gang but him."<br>Lestrade frowned. "Everyone we know about." He cautioned. "And this note..."  
>"Fortunes change." Gregson repeated the message. "You think it's a threat?"<br>Lestrade shrugged. "I don't think it's a friendly warning." He retorted. "Be careful."  
>Gregson rolled his eyes. "You be careful."<p>

Craddock caught up with Gregson and escorted him to his office. "Early morning War Council?" Craddock practically sneered, and Gregson wished he could get away with punching the man in the mouth.  
>"He's too busy worrying about that child killing case to notice much else." Gregson said instead of resorting to violence. "Another one turned up last night."<br>Craddock shook his head. "Now that is just wrong." He said, and Gregson almost stared. He would not have thought Craddock, of all people, would be bothered by a child killer. He sighed, then changed the subject. "So how are things going with the sister?" He asked.  
>Gregson shrugged. "Slowly. I don't want Lestrade to shoot me for looking at her the wrong way." It was not strictly true, but Gregson figured it was believable enough. Craddock seemed to buy it, though he also seemed to find the thought of Lestrade shooting Gregson for molesting his sister amusing.<br>"She seems to enjoy my company, however." Gregson added. "The woman herself is not a problem."  
>That seemed to satisfy Craddock. They reached Gregson's office, and the younger man decided to take a chance. "Look, er-" He took a deep breath. "Lestrade's putting your people away left and right. How do I know I'm not next? And even if I'm not, there's only two of us left now? What happens next?"<br>To Gregson's dismay, Craddock only laughed. The sound sent chills down his spine. "I'm taking care of Lestrade." Craddock assured Gregson. "Don't you worry about that."  
>Gregson frowned. "He got some kind of note yesterday..."<br>Craddock smiled. Gregson tried unsuccessfully to return it.

Gregson spent most of the morning obsessing over his own coroner's report. It was a wonder either Inspector had actually gotten one, but it seemed that Police Surgeon Barton, while not actually an ally, did not care for murder.  
>His suspicions concerning the girl's death had been correct. Her murderer had likely abducted her from somewhere, dragged her somewhere where he would not have to worry about being interrupted, killed her, and dumped the body in the river.<br>And even if someone had seen any of this going on, it was improbable that it would be reported.  
>Sometimes Gregson wondered why he had transferred to Scotland Yard. He could do a lot better somewhere else. He could have just stayed put. He had caught some flack for protecting the young man who had tried to bribe him, but nothing worth leaving over.<br>He had been here for over a year now and he still sometimes found himself wondering what he was doing here.  
>The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and Gregson looked up to see West standing in the doorway. He wondered, as the man entered without waiting for an invitation, if the man had finally found out about Craddock, jumped to the natural conclusion, and was coming to put an end to him.<br>"You want to prove yourself, boy?" West asked. It was the last thing Gregson was expecting to hear from the man.  
>He considered the question before answering it. "To you?" He asked. "How?" West was not the kind of person you agreed with without knowing full well what you were agreeing to.<br>"I need a couple of men to take with me tonight." West explained. "You and Lestrade are unfortunately my best choices."  
>That was flattering. "What are you doing tonight?" Gregson asked cautiously.<br>"I've tracked a couple of...miscreants to their hideout. I plan on going after them." For what was not the first time, Gregson got the feeling that West was more than just an Inspector. The vague explanation did not help.  
>"Did you ask Lestrade?" Gregson wanted to know. West almost grinned.<br>"At least you aren't stupid." He said. "Yes. Lestrade said he would go. He also told me I would have to ask you."  
>That meant Lestrade was uneasy about the night's planned activity. Gregson may not have cared for the man, but he was not about to leave him stuck with West by himself. "All right." He agreed cautiously. "I'll do it."<br>"Good." West looked no happier than he usually did. He looked Gregson over skeptically, as if measuring him up against whatever the evening would hold for them. His eye fell on the coroner's report Gregson was still holding.  
>"Let it go, boy." West said. "You're never going to find her. Or the Murderer. It's a waste of time."<br>Then he was gone, leaving Inspector Gregson glaring furiously after him.

All Gregson knew was that they were after a gang of about four men, but West had failed to offer any explanation of who these men were or why he was after them.  
>Gregson was hardly surprised by this; more surprising was the fact that Lestrade had let the matter pass and not demanded more information.<br>West had told them to be careful.  
>The building was quiet, with no sign that anyone had been here for some time. Gregson wondered if maybe the man had gotten his information wrong, but knew better than to suggest as much.<br>He spun around; he thought he had heard something. Gregson stood peering into the darkness, wishing that West had not been agaisnt using lamps. All they had to go by was moonlight from the windows.  
>Gregson heard a shout from the floor above and his stomach sank. That sounded an awful lot like Lestrade, and it did not sound good. He turned and bolted for the stairs.<br>He reached Lestrade at about the same time as two nasty looking characters did. He threw himself at the first without giving it a second's thought and shouted for West.  
>West appeared out of nowhere as Gregson was beginning to realize that he was outmatched. He had never been so relieved to see the man, and probably never would be again.<br>"That's the last two." West grunted as he dropped his opponent. He bent over to examine the two, but Gregson was more worried about Lestrade and the knife that had him pinned to a wooden beam.  
>"Lestrade?" He asked, scowling at the knife that had gone right through the man's shoulder. "You all right?"<br>Lestrade swallowed back what was either a sharp retort or a groan of pain. "Yeah." He managed, his voice tight. "I'm all right."  
>Gregson was not convinced. He wondered if he should not leave the knife in for now, but Lestrade himself reached up and pulled the knife out of his right shoulder with a barely muffled cry.<br>Gregson wheeled around to glare at West; he recognized the knife. He opened his mouth to say something, but his attention was distracted by a thud behind him. Lestrade had fallen to his knees.  
>Gregson directed his attention to trying to control the bleeding. He could only assume that West was taking care of his men, but he could not actually bring himself to care when he had a bleeding Inspector in front of him to worry about.<br>He dragged the too pale Inspector to his feet. "We're going home," he told the man, who managed to nod, but did not say anything else, "and then I'm getting a doctor."  
>Lestrade glared at him at that, but for once did not argue.<p>

Kristina Lestrade paled but had immediately stepped forward to help maneuver her brother in through the door. "In here." She said, moving towards the sitting room. They settled Lestrade onto the couch; the man choked back a moan and his sister fixed him with a stern glance. "You've been stabbed."  
>"He needs a doctor." Gregson said, alarmed when Lestrade did not even look his way at the announcement. "He's lost a lot of blood. Keep him awake, will you?"<br>Kristina nodded. Gregson left her there and went back out, hoping he he could find someone who would actually come out at this time of night for a wounded policeman.  
>He found someone, a man he did not know, outside of St. Bart's and approached him. "Excuse me, doctor?" The young man looked up from the paper he was studying.<br>"I am a doctor." He confirmed. His eyes narrowed, and Gregson was surprised to read concern in the pale blue orbs. "Are you all right?" The doctor asked.  
>"I am." Gregson said quickly. "Another man is not. He was stabbed."<br>An eyebrow went up, and the younger man turned and marched quickly up the stairs toward the entrance to the hospital. "Where is he? Is he here?" Gregson shook his head as he followed.  
>"I thought it better to take him home." The man threw a sharp glance back at him at those words. "He's a policeman." He explained, and the young doctor actually stopped and studied him.<br>"What difference does that make?" He wanted to know.  
>Gregson stifled a sigh. "This is an emergency." He pointed out, and the man nodded and started walking again. Gregson studied him from behind as the walked. "You aren't from around here." He guessed.<br>The doctor shook his head. "I came in to deliver a series of lectures to some students." He offered. "I've also been helping at the hospital." He was quiet for a moment as Gregson followed him down the halls of a building he often had need of but rarely set foot inside any more.  
>"Why would you take a policeman home instead of bringing him here?" The doctor asked, stepping into an office that was neat and comfortable but obviously only temporary. He grabbed a medical bag and was off down the hall again, Gregson still trailing behind.<br>"It's safer." Gregson admitted. "We aren't well liked."  
>The doctor chuckled softly. "What police force is?" He asked, not unkindly.<br>Gregson shrugged. "We aren't trusted." He said, though it was really none of this man's concern. "A lot of our people can't be trusted."  
>Another sharp glance. "But you can." The doctor suggested. "Not that it matters, if a man is injured." He murmered, but then he stopped. "This man you want me to treat, how was he injured?" He asked seriously. "Is he the sort that can be trusted?"<br>Gregson was tired. It had been a long day. He sighed, and met the young doctor's eyes. "If there is anyone in the city you can trust, it's Lestrade." He told the doctor. "He's a good man. He was injured in the line of duty."  
>The doctor nodded, satisfied. "Let's go."<p>

Sanderson, as Gregson later found the man's name to be, was kneeling down next to Lestrade in less than a second. "Hello, Lestrade." The doctor sounded calm, even friendly. "I hear you're a policeman."  
>Lestrade blinked, but did not actually reply. Sanderson was not discouraged. "You're injured." He nodded toward the man's shoulder. "Working tonight?"<br>Another reluctant nod. "You don't like doctors." Sanderson observed quietly. "Whatever happened, I'm sorry."  
>Lestrade's eyes widened ever so slightly as the young man continued. "You're losing quite a bit of blood, and I get the feeling that if you were able you would have already done something about it. Mind if I just look?"<br>Slowly, Lestrade nodded. Sanderson set aside the blood soaked cloth that Kristina must have been trying to slow the bleeding with and examined the wound.  
>"This needs treated." Sanderson said sharply. "Sooner rather than later." He looked Lestrade over. "If you don't want to bleed to death I suggest you let me help you." His voice was suddenly hard. He was no longer trying to reassure or relax the injured man in front of him.<br>And Lestrade let him.  
>Gregson was almost impressed, he had never before met anyone capable of manipulating Lestrade, and especially not of persuading the man with anything other than cold hard facts. The very thought of trying to calm Lestrade like one would a frightened child was ridiculous, and yet this man had done almost exactly that and it had actually worked.<br>"Thank you." Kristina thanked the young man when Lestrade was taken care of and resting comfortably-at least, as comfortably as possible. "Not many people-" she shrugged and smiled sadly at Sanderson, "not many people even care what happens to a policeman around here."  
>"It's hard." Sanderson replied, gathering the tools of his trade. "You worry about whether he'll come home each night, how the job's affecting him, and everywhere you go you run into people who are quick to see the worst and forget the good they do."<br>Kristina was staring at the man. Gregson must have been as well, because Sanderson looked from her to him and sighed. "My father was a police officer." He explained, offering them a small smile.  
>"I'll be in the city until Friday." He added, closing his bag. "Don't hesitate to call on me if you need anything."<br>Gregson nodded and saw the man to the door. When he returned Kristina was sitting with a cup of tea; she was up and brandishing a second cup at him in a flash.  
>"Thank you." She said as Gregson acccepted the cup and settled on to the bench. "I know you two don't exactly see eye to eye."<br>That was an understatment, but Gregson was not entirely certain it was unintentional. "He's a good man." He told her, and found that he did not actually mind admitting as much to her. "He's a good policeman as well. He gives the job his all, and he cares about people. And-" he hesitated there for a fraction of a second "And I trust him." He shrugged. "He's the only person I know I can trust." He scowled at the now sleeping man on the couch. "Your brother would have done the same for me." He added.  
>They finished their tea, and he told her he needed to get going. She nodded and walked him to the door.<br>"Let me know if you need anything." He told her.

Gregson was crazy. Absolutely insane. There was no way he would be doing this if he were not a complete lunatic.  
>"You stabbed him." He accused. West waited. "You stabbed one of your own people."<br>West shrugged. "I needed to flush out the men we were seeking. It worked."  
>Gregson could not believe this. "You stabbed him. We're all supposed to be on the same team."<br>"He'll be fine." West said, not concerned in the least. "There was no permanent damge done."  
>"It won't happen again." Gregson snapped at the man. "He could have been killed last night." For a moment, Gregson imagined West might just go ahead and get rid of him right there.<br>He turned and left Gregson standing there.  
>Gregson shook his head. West was dangerous, and not just to anyone he felt opposed him, but also to anyone he could use to further his cause.<br>He turned and nearly walked right into Craddock. "How's it going?" The man asked nastily.  
>Gregson resisted the urge to groan. "Lestrade was stabbed last night." He said irritably. "And no, I haven't gotten any farther with his sister."<br>Craddock scowled down at the younger Inspector. "You're not very useful, Gregson." He warned before sauntering off.  
>Gregson watched him go and sighed. He turned. A chill ran down his spine and fear made his blood run cold.<br>West was still in the room. 


	8. Can't fix the world

Author's note: And here is where it ends. I honestly wasn't expecting it, I meant to go on a bit longer, but I started on this chapter and suddenly everything seemed to just lay itself out in front of me, and I knew it had to happen this way. Thanks for reading. Thanks for reviewing. I hope you enjoyed the trip.

* * *

><p>"Worried about Lestrade? Or worried that you won't be able to deliver him to your friend Craddock?" West whispered in Gregson's ear as he put an arm around his shoulder and steered him down toward his office. Gregson could feel his heart racing.<p>

"I don't want Lestrade dead." He growled at the man. He was in trouble, but he suddenly realized that he would rather die than cower in front of this man and beg and plead his case. If West had already made up his mind,

Gregson was not going to be able to dissuade him. "Lestrade insists that he can trust you." West said softly. "Does he know you're hanging out with Craddock?"

"He put me up to it." Gregson willed his voice not to quiver. He somehow turned to meet West face to face. He stared into the older man's eyes. "My conscience is clear. You can kill me or not, but I am not the enemy."

"He's on our side, West." Lestrade's voice cut through the tension. "He's been running with Craddock for a couple weeks now on my orders."

West was silent, studying Gregson. The next few quiet minutes were nearly unbearable, and Gregson found himself resisting the urge to fidget.

Finally the man removed his arm from Gregson's shoulder. "Mess up," he warned Gregson with a hiss, "and I'll slice you into pieces and send you back to Lestrade in a box. Got that?" West shifted his attention to Lestrade. Gregson turned as well, and wondered what Lestrade had said to get his sister to let him out of the house this morning. His arm was in a sling; he certainly could not use it. He was still far to pale and his words lacked their usual conviction.

Smith, Adams, and Johnson were with him.

"We need to talk." Lestrade said.

* * *

><p>Gregson scowled. They were raiding a warehouse down by the river that was supposed to be receiving a shipment tonight. Smith, Johnson, and Lestrade were all injured and should not have been back on duty yet, but they needed people they could trust and that list was rather short.<p>

Not that any of the injured would likely agree to stay home anyway. Slave trading left a bad taste in even West's mouth. The man was as angry tonight as Gregson had ever seen him.

Gregson was with Johnson, waiting. The two crouched near each other, silent in the darkness. Waiting. Watching.

All was dark. It was too quiet. The night was too still, too calm.

Gregson had a bad feeling about this.

"Let's go." Johnson said, and they moved forward. They stepped through the back door into the warehouse. Everything exploded into chaos.

"Look out!" Johnson shoved him, hard, and he went down. He was up again in a second, but he and Johnson were vastly outnumbered.

They could not see. All about them shouts rang out in the darkness. Gregson suddenly found himself fight for his life and wondering if it were a fight he could win.

He was not at all confident that it was.

* * *

><p>"It was a trap." Adams spat out the words as West bent over to examine the other Inspector's knee.<p>

Smith was dead.

Lestrade's arm was bleeding again. That was one of the lesser concerns at the moment.

"Crane." West snarled. Lestrade actually sighed.

"We have no proof." He ground out.

"He was in the hall." West snapped.

"Coincidence." Lestrade argued. "Just knowing he's guilty isn't enough."

Johnson was fading fast. Gregson made his decion. "I'm going for a doctor." His eyes locked with Lestrade's . "You've already met him."

Lestrade nodded, and Gregson climbed wearily to his feet.

Adams looked over at Johnson. He refused to look at Smith. "Hurry." He said.

Gregson did not have to be told twice.

* * *

><p>It took Gregson far longer than he would have liked to track Dr. Sanderson to the restaurant where he and several of his colleagues were having dinner.<p>

It was not the sort of place Gregson would ever visit unless his job required it, and he hoped it never would. He felt out of place as he found a waiter and tried to convince him to grant him access.

A five minute arguement that Gregson did not have time for later, the stuck up waiter finally left to get whoever was in charge.

This man turned out to be even worse than the waiter. Gregson finally lost his temper when the man threatened to send for the police.

"I am the police, you sodding git!" Gregson roared, and everything went absolutely still. He glared down at the dark haired, arrogant man before him. "I am Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, and you can let me pass or I'll haul both you and your little friend down for a visit."

Where politeness had failed the threat worked, and Gregson was soon making his way across the still silent room, his eyes searching desperately for his quarry.

Surprise registered on Dr. Sanderson's face as he recognized Gregson, and the young man was up in an instant. "What happened? Are you all right?" He asked.

Gregson shook his head. "I'm sorry to interrupt your dinner, doctor, but it's an emergency. We've already lost one man and we may lose more if they don't get help soon."

"Show me." Gregson was pleasantly surprised when Sanderson followed him without a backward glance at the men he had left behind.

* * *

><p>Gregson felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as he entered Scotland Yard the following morning. There was something downright terrifying about knowing that the only person present today that he could trust was West.<p>

Smith was dead. Johnson might be. They would have to wait and see. Adams would never walk again without assistance. Lestrade was lucky not to be dead. West should not have been here either.

Gregson had gotten off easy.

He had not escaped unscathed. He was therefore not really in any condition to defend himself when he walked into his office and was promptly slammed up against the wall beside his door by Craddock.

"You're a liability." Craddock sneered. "You've been pretty useless so far. Now you will be good for something. Lestrade's lost almost everyone around him. He's vulnerable. Weak. You're the last ally he thinks he has. Imagine what it will do to him when he finds you dead and learns that you were caught running errands for me."

Gregson punched the man in the face. It was not as satisfying as he had thought it would be, possibly because Craddock responded by first throwing him at his desk and then slamming his head into it.

He shouted for help and remembered that Lestrade's sister had promised he would not get out of bed today. "Go ahead." Craddock taunted, delivering a solid blow to his side. "No one's here to save you." He laughed. "You were running an errand for me. Lacey's been suspicious; he followed you. He found out what you were carrying and when he confronted you in your office, you tried to kill him. He had no choice but to defend himself."

Craddock shoved Gregson against the wall and stepped back. Gregson's mouth went dry as the man drew a revolver and took aim.

He was going to die.

The shot fired; Gregson's eyes involuntary closed and he flinched. A second later they flew open. Craddock stared at him, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open.

Then he fell.

West was leaning in the doorway, a gun that Gregson had not even known he owned in his right hand. He looked Gregson up and down before speaking. "Can't have Lestrade losing what little faith in people he has left." The man grumbled. "Don't make me regret this."

And he was gone, leaving Gregson to deal with the dead man in his office.

* * *

><p>"Johnson is going to make it." Gregson said, picking up his glass but not taking a drink. "He won't be able to rejoin the force."<p>

"Neither will Adams." Lestrade said flatly.

Neither of them mentioned Smith.

"You were lucky." Lestrade said a minute later. "West could have simply waited for Craddock to finish with you. Actual murder is more convincing than attempted murder."

Gregson knew that. He hated knowing it. He hated not being able to trust the men he worked with. He hated not knowing who was an enemy and who was an ally.

"Crane put in for a transfer." Lestrade continued. "He's out of our hair."

Gregson sighed. "Is it ever going to get any better?" He asked, not at all amused by the realization that out of all the people he worked with, the only one he could really trust was a man he did not like.

Lestrade was quiet for a long while. "Doesn't matter." He finally said. "Just because we can't fix the world doesn't mean we don't have to try."

They fell silent again, each lost in their own thoughts. "We're getting a new man next week." Lestrade said. "Inspector. Freshly promoted. He's inexperienced, but he's clean."

"What's his name?" Gregson asked. "Athelney Jones." Lestrade said.

"Athelney?" Gregson repeated. "Odd name."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "I just hope he's up to it."

Gregson could agree with _that_ sentiment, at least.


End file.
